


Somewhere Only We Know

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Inspired by Studio Ghibli, Levi-centric, Mental Health Issues, She/Her Pronouns for Hange Zoë, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-26 14:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: Not to lay blame, but Levi is strongly of the opinion that had his mother never forced him into his robe and his sandals and out the front door on the eve of the One-Night Bridge, he might never have run into his classmates by the lake, and he might never have had to deal with What Happened to Armin. And, perhaps most importantly, Levi might never have spent the summer before his final year in high school swanning around a forest in the country with a girl and a book and a tally in one dog-eared corner.But as it stands, she did, and everything that might not have followed, did follow.Levi still isn’t entirely sure how he feels about that.
Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë, Marie/Erwin Smith
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	1. Unwell

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [TundrainAfrica](https://tundrainafrica.tumblr.com/) and [Nori](https://buntaichounori.tumblr.com/) for taking the time to read this through for me, I truly couldn't have done it without you both <3 
> 
> Song for this chapter is [Unwell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WziA88-n02k) by Matchbox Twenty

_But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell_

_I know, right now you can’t tell_

_But stay a while and maybe then you’ll see_

_A different side of me_

_*_

The One-Night Bridge appears only once a year, at the closing of winter and the coming of spring. In the dark of the night it stretches long and endless into the sky. On this night and this night alone can the spirits lost from the physical world, travel on to the next. That, at least, is how the story goes. 

Levi Ackerman believes that the festival is nothing but a festival, and the lanterns are nothing but lanterns, and the only spirits in town are for sale in little paper cups on little wooden stalls at very high prices. 

Still, it isn't the falsity of it all that keeps Levi at home. It’s the _merriment_. It’s all of the people and all of the noise, the music and the laughter, the shouts of vendors, beckoning the rabble to indulge just the smallest bit more. It is the fullness of it all, or more, the lack of empty spaces—for never has he been the type to mingle well in crowds. 

Levi heaves a sigh, and watches the flickering lights beyond his bedroom window. 

Even from his house upon the hill, he can hear the music. It swells the air with heavy drums and bamboo clappers, the tinny twang of strings, and flutes that whistle on the breeze. The cacophony carries so well that Levi might have thought it all to be right there on his lawn, could he not see the celebrations down in the town. 

“So loud,” he says quietly, to no one in particular. His reflection in the window blinks back at him, and wobbles in the light from his lamp. He stretches, the papers strewn over his desk rustling as he does—one, still damp with fresh ink, sticks to the skin of his elbow even as he leans back on his chair—and scrubs both hands over his face.

It’s no use. Levi can't concentrate on the best of days, never mind on a night like this, with the rest of the world so alive beyond the window. 

Resigned, he gathers up his homework, and clambers to his feet. 

Levi isn’t a peculiarly tall boy. A little below average if he were grudgingly honest, and so he can only assume that whoever built this house was instead peculiarly _small_ , because the ceiling of his bedroom sits so low in places even _he_ has to stoop to avoid knocking his head. 

He walks to the bed with a crouch, lighting the lamp on the nightstand, and lies atop the mattress. Homework will have to wait until morning. 

With his eyes closed, he can almost imagine he is dreaming. The music warbles on, but in his head it grows softer, calmer, and it doesn’t carry so many sounds from the crowd—the rush of voices sounds instead like breaking water, breathing over rocks and lapping at the land. The trill of the flutes dances like birdsong, and if he tries a little harder, breathes a little deeper, Levi can pretend that this is all he can hear. 

With those soft, far-away sounds in his head, Levi paints a picture. 

It is a familiar one, something that might be a dream, might be a memory; a river, cleaving a deep, ancient path through a forest. Trees stretch up like skyscrapers with thick, robust trunks and knitted branches. High in the canopy, lost between lush green leaves and the peaking light of the sun, birds chirrup, each shrill tweet hanging in the still air. 

Over the river, between the trees, Levi paints himself a house. It sits snug amongst the forest, made of wood, earthy stones and thin, panelled windows, all dark from within save for one in an upper corner which is bathed in candlelight. The roof is mismatched, tall and pointed in some places, short and flat in others, and the lawn is neat, trimmed short, barred from the rest of the forest's foliage with rustic wooden fencing. 

And over the river, between the trees, from inside the little house itself, comes a knocking. 

But no. No, Levi thinks, frowning, who would be knocking from the _inside_? It must be the drums. The picture blurs about the edges. The drums from the festival, beating louder than before, clapping and thumping so boisterously, they quake his little forest view until it shatters.

He opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling. 

The drums aren’t pounding. In fact, if anything, the sounds from the town have dimmed some, fading enough that Levi can hear the tick of the clock on the wall and the low hum of the wind, sweeping over the loose rattling frames of his window. 

And he can still hear the knocking, a rhythmic _rat-tat-tat_ at the bedroom door, followed swiftly by, “Levi? It’s time to get ready.” 

Levi groans, and rolls to bury his face in his pillows. 

“I told you,” he says, “I’m not going.” 

On the other side of the door, his mother huffs, and taps her sandal-clad toes against the floor. Levi knows she wears sandals, because a matching pair sits tucked a little way beneath his bed frame, kicked far enough out of sight that he doesn’t have to think about them. 

“And I told you, you _are_. We have to pay our respects, just like everybody else.” 

Levi doesn’t think the people in the town are doing an awful lot of respect-paying, not with the way they guzzle down fine wines and grow fat with rich, juicy meats, not with the _state_ of them by the time the One-Night Bridge finally opens up over the water. 

“The procession is moving, Levi,” his mother says, a hint of real impatience in her tone, “get dressed, or I’ll come in there and dress you myself.” 

Levi sits up. This, he knows—for what are past experiences if not tools with which to learn life's most important lessons—is a threat not to be taken lightly. 

He dresses as slowly as he can manage, with his mother thumping her feet outside the door. The wind outside still clings to a little of its winter chill, and the walls of the house aren’t terribly well-insulated, but even still, Levi is sweating as he ties his sash about his waist, and the space between his toes rubs slick against the strap of his sandals. He is painstakingly winding the short, silk laces around his ankles when the door finally does open. 

“It doesn’t take this _long_ ,” she says, dropping to her knees and yanking Levi’s foot into her lap, “to tie your shoes.” 

Levi chews on his thumbnail and watches his mother's quick fingers finish first one foot, and then the other. 

“I don’t want to go,” he says simply. Blunt honesty has never worked in the past, but neither have lies, and neither have pleas. 

“I wish you wouldn’t fight me on this year after year, Levi,” she says. She sounds exhausted—she always sounds exhausted, these days. She clambers to her feet and dusts off her robe, where a fine patch of crumbling mud marks the fabric. “And I thought I told you to clean those after last year.” 

Levi looks down at his mud-caked sandals. He had intended on cleaning them, he remembers, but he has always had issues with turning intentions into actions. There are always too many steps involved—nothing is ever as simple as just washing a pair of sandals. 

“I forgot.” 

Levi didn’t forget—instead, he put it off, like he does with an awful lot of things. Instead, he thought about all the things he should be doing that are more important than cleaning his shoes. Instead, Levi did an awful lot of nothing, and nothing, and nothing, because as it turned out there were a lot of little somethings he needed to do, and it was hard to find the time to do them in amongst the hours, and the days, and the weeks he spent thinking about them all. 

“Well,” his mother sighs, “there’s no time to do them now. We’d better hurry, or we’ll miss it.” 

And hurry they do. So much so, in fact, that they are halfway down the road before his mother realises they’ve left the lanterns on the table. 

By the time they do reach the lake, each with a lantern in hand, most of the town is there, stretched out over the long, pebbled beach. Levi’s mother pushes her way through the throng, and just like every year past, Levi struggles to keep up, squeezing his arms in tight at his sides and wedging his way past, careful as he can be to avoid poking people with his bony elbows or trodding on anyone’s toes. 

She barges until they reach the water's edge. The lake is a little turbulent in the breeze, rippling up against the rocks and splashing at their feet. Levi tucks the little paper lantern to his chest and darts his eyes about the crowd. 

Like always, Levi feels vastly out of place. The reasons are innumerable; he is quiet, and he is sober, and he is warm, so warm he itches with it while the people standing close by are shivering, and his robe is dark—blue, so deep he’d have thought it black were it not for the midnight silk of the sash—while the rest of the town, it seems, wear warmer, spring colours. 

He feels decidedly like a storm cloud drifting on a clear, sunset sky. The world around him sings in pinks, in pale blues, in the softest splashes of orange and purple and green and Levi stands, a boulder amongst the flowers. 

People bustle by behind him and his mother, laughing, lanterns swinging in the wind. 

All of them are the same; small, and square, made of thin, muted orange paper, and each and every one of them has one name or more printed on one side. Names of the lost—lanterns to guide each and every soul over the bridge. 

Soon enough, the music is drawing to a close. Levi wriggles his toes in his sandals. Beside him, his mother is shifting, nimble fingers picking at the thin metal joints holding her lantern in shape and playing over the name, inscribed in neat, flowing letters, just like last year, and the year before that, and all the years that have gone by. 

Somewhere to his left, a light flickers on. It is followed by another, and another, a sea of little orange blurs blooming to life amongst the crowd. A new warmth comes with the light, the gentle simmer of fire, and perhaps it’d be pleasant, if only he weren’t sweating so heavily already. 

“Here.” 

A woman in a pretty pink robe holds out a light. The end of the stick burns lazily in the darkness, and the softest of smells rises up with the smoke. Levi swallows. His palms are clammy, and before he reaches for the light he wipes them on his robe. 

He dips the stick into his lantern, catching the wick, holding it in place until a little flame jumps to life. His mother takes the light and ignites her own candle, and passes it on to the next stranger like the task takes nothing out of her at all. 

Some years, when the sky is clear, the people swear they can see the bridge high up in the heavens, an intertwining of stars, but Levi has never noticed before. All he sees are the lanterns, the first of which often sails without warning, lifting on the wind and carrying up, up, up, for the rest of them to follow. 

Slowly, at first, people throughout the crowd raise their lanterns, a smattering of lights leading the procession. And like the heavens open for rain, their little town floods the midnight sky with fire. 

“Now, Levi.” 

Together, like they have every year since Levi was a boy, they lift their lanterns to the sky, and let go.

For a long while, nobody moves. Nobody talks. The town, for once, unites in silence as their lights float off on the breeze. It’s almost easy, in the atmosphere, with their lights carrying further out over the sky, for Levi to trick himself into believing that the spirits will follow. That the lost will find closure in whatever comes next. 

It’s almost easy to believe in spirits at all. 

And then, just like that, it’s over. The illusion shatters in an eruption of noise—people cheer, and the musicians pick up their instruments, and this—this is the reason Levi never wants to come. 

People shove at him. They nudge at his back and pull at his robe, feet scuffing at his ankles and stepping on his toes, and like a wave receding into a stormy sea, they grab him, and pull him under. 

Levi can’t swim. It doesn’t matter how he tries, the ebbing mass tugs at him. Stretching on his toes and craning his neck to peer over towering, looming heads and shoulders, Levi can see the reflection of the lanterns shimmering on the lake. The waters edge isn’t far, but whenever his scrabbling fingertips find the outskirts of the crowd they knock him back in, again and again, until, from nowhere, a hand wraps cold around his wrist, and tugs him free. 

He stumbles out onto the stones, and sucks in a few breaths. 

The press of the crowd makes him _itchy_. It warms the blood beneath his skin until it simmers, and burns, and the breath in his lungs turns to steam that cloys and chokes him. In his new-found freedom Levi gulps down the cool, fresh air, and then he turns, expecting to see his mother beside him—perhaps glad to have found him, perhaps admonishing, he doesn’t much care which. 

But she isn’t there. 

Instead, Levi is met with three familiar faces, and something like dread coils in his stomach. 

“Ah, we didn’t expect to see you out tonight, Levi.” 

Levi hadn’t expected to see his classmates, either. He’d hoped to make this trip as painless as possible—let loose his lantern, pay his respects, go home—but the world clearly isn’t on his side tonight. 

Armin is smiling a little nervously, just like always, and by his side stands a girl—tall and thin, with her dark hair pulled up in an intricate knot atop her head. Mikasa gives him a vacant, unamused look. 

“We didn’t see you at the festival,” Armin says, ringing his hands into his robe. It’s a little too long, tickling down over his toes to scrape at the floor. Levi watches the little waves of the lake lap up over their feet, soaking into the fabric. 

“I didn’t go,” Levi says. Almost imperceptibly, Armin's eyes widen, but he covers his look of surprise quickly enough and widens his smile. On his other side, a taller boy, taller even than Mikasa and towering above Levi's smaller frame, glowers down at Levi with eyes that pinch in distaste. 

“Because he has nobody to go with,” Jean says. Levi bristles. 

“Ah—well, you can come with us, if you'd like?” 

Armin's smile is polite and sincere. Levi has observed him in school—always the diplomat, the kind of kid desperate to make everyone feel included. Levi would like to decline the invitation with equal civility, but the words sit fat and heavy on his tongue, and instead he just says, “no.” 

Jean scoffs. “Don’t bother,” he says. “Stop trying to take in stray dogs, Armin. They might bite.” 

Levi twists his robe around his fingers. His face, he knows, is curled in a vicious scowl, and try as he might he cannot smooth it out. He glares somewhere over Jean's shoulder, where lights glitter on the surface of the lake. 

Jean knows his jab has landed. He tilts his head, and he smirks. Levi sucks a breath past the tightness in his chest. His feet slip about in his sandals, cool lake water splashing up over his toes. 

A nervous little laugh bubbles up out of Armin’s throat. 

“Don’t be mean, Jean,” he scolds gently. Armin takes a few steps forward, into the space between the three of them and Levi, feet sloshing through little waves as they eat their way up the beach. “Ignore Jean, he doesn't mean that.” 

_He does_ , Levi thinks, eyeing the way Jean's smirk is twisting the corner of his lip. Levi pinches his robe tighter still, until his knuckles bruise white under the pressure. 

He swallows, watching the gap between them recede with every step Armin takes. 

“You’re more than welcome to come.” He says, with the kind of smile that winks his eyes closed. “Jean just likes picking fights, is all. Don’t mind him.” 

“Oi,” Jean says, marginally offended. Armin waves him off.

“Sorry, sorry. Anyways.” Armin takes one last stride, big enough to pull him right into Levi's airspace. He is the smallest of the three but he is still taller than Levi. It makes him antsy, like a rat cornered in a back alley, and the desperate unease only grows when Armin raises an arm and plants an open palm squarely on Levi’s shoulder. “We’re gonna go get some food, if you want to join us?” 

Levi doesn’t mean to. No part of him _means_ to, but the press of Armin’s hand on his shoulder is a finger on a trigger, and Levi fires without warning. 

He jerks, the quickest shove of his arm. The flat of his palm collides with Armin’s chest hard, with more strength than Levi thought he had in him, and with his arms wind-milling for balance, Armin topples. 

And despite the grab of Levi’s fingers, and the reach of Jean’s arms and the quiet gasp that hisses out of Mikasa’s throat, he falls. 

It shouldn’t be that bad. He doesn’t fall far, and the edge of the lake isn’t that deep, and by all counts the scene that presents itself should be in the least a little funny. Armin, sitting with little rivulets running down his forehead into his eyes, his hair plastered to his face and his robe to his body, spitting the murky water from his lips—it should be funny, like something from a cartoon, but it’s not. 

It’s not, because Armin’s face is losing colour, and where his right hand lies in the lake, a steady plume of red is clouding the water. 

“Armin.” Mikasa says it simply. Quietly. Barely even audible as she kneels down beside him, robes darkening as water seeps into the delicate fabric. Her voice is quiet, but it booms in the silence that has surrounded them. People are _staring_ , their eyes crawling from Armin where he sits pallid in the lake, his hand—swelling rapidly at his wrist—cradled in his lap, to Levi. 

“I—” he starts. An _apology_ , that’s what he needs, but for all his searching he can’t seem to find one. It sits just out of reach, and instead Levi gapes, and flounders, and his skin prickles under the stares that are turning steadily more and more sour. 

“What'd I tell you?” Jean says. Most times, when Jean says anything, it is in some sick kind of jest, but he is full of bite, now. Pointed teeth and a sharp, wicked tongue. "Stray dogs bite."

Levi stumbles a few steps back from the water's edge, and as he does, the people around them press in closer. 

_Is he okay?_ They murmur behind their hands. _What happened? Did that boy push him?_

With every step, the pebbles beneath Levi’s sandal wobble. He can feel every single one, pressing up into the soles of his feet, each little stone threatening to trip him, stumble him. 

“I—” he starts, faltering. All eyes—every pair in the town, it feels like—turn to him, waiting. They expect something more, an explanation, but Levi doesn’t have one to give. 

He casts one last, terrified glance down at Armin, before he flees. 

* * *

There were _talks_ , after the festival. They began immediately, starting with his mother the moment she came home, heaving and sweaty from her run up the hill, with Levi’s name shrill on her tongue. 

She asked a lot of questions Levi couldn’t answer. She asked him why he ran, why _that boy_ was bleeding, why everybody by their little portion of the lake's edge was saying that Levi was responsible. She asked him why, and Levi didn’t know the answer. 

All he could do was shake his head. 

He’d stripped his robe mere moments after he’d slammed his bedroom door closed behind him, and it lay in a haphazard heap in the middle of the floor as his mother talked, rumpled and twisted, damp at the hem and splattered with dirt. His sandals, he had kicked to the wall, where they sat dripping watery mud onto the hardwood. Levi watched each new, sticky droplet fall, and tried his best to drown out everything his mother had to say. 

She was disappointed. Levi hated that more than anything—anger, he can handle, but there was a raw kind of guilt ripping him open with every frown, and each solemn sway of her head. 

The meetings came next, with his teachers and his mother and Armin’s parents, stern and straight-backed, with pursed lips, judging eyes, and Armin’s hospital bill sitting threateningly on the desk before them. They all asked similar questions and they got similar answers, and all the while Levi sat rigid in the stiff wooden chair and kept his eyes on his toes. 

After that, there were the talks with his classmates. Armin, surprisingly, held no kind of grudge at all. 

“It was an accident,” he said, playing with the bulky cast wrapping from his elbow to the very tips of his fingers, “you didn’t mean to hurt me, did you?” 

Mikasa was alarmingly silent. She said nothing positive and nothing negative, gave no indication that she despised him for what he had done, nor did she seem to agree with Armin's forgiveness. Her face was stormy as ever, and Levi, unsure how to read her, did not much like her reaction. 

Jean, predictably, was a problem. 

“It doesn’t matter if he meant it,” he said, “what matters is that he did it, and then he ran off, like a _coward_ , and left everybody else to deal with his mess. Again.” 

Each new talk seemed worse than the last, but the most important one of all comes one Thursday mid-May, with a doctor from a hospital in the city. 

Levi knows somebody is home who shouldn’t _be_ home the moment he steps through the door. Where there should be one pair of shoes, there are two, and there is a coat Levi doesn’t recognise hanging up along with the rest. 

“I’m home,” he says, toeing off his shoes. It feels strange, foreign, giving a greeting, because most days when he comes home, the house is empty. Today, though, his mother pokes her head around the doorframe to the kitchen. 

“You’re late,” she says, beckoning him in. “Come on, there’s somebody here to see you.” 

Levi grips the strap of his bag against his shoulder. There are two thoughts vying for attention in the forefront of his mind: the first, to run back out the door and down the road, far away from the house and the stranger waiting in the kitchen; the second, to head for the stairs. There is no lock on his bedroom door, but Levi is semi-confident that he could barricade it well enough with his furniture to keep everybody out. 

But neither are feasible. Not when his mother is watching, waiting. 

Steeling himself, Levi drops his bag, and makes the trek up the hallway. 

It feels _impossibly_ long, walking between the porch and the kitchen, in the full knowledge that whoever is waiting for him is probably, much like everything else has been over the last two months, in some way related to What Happened to Armin. Levi is tired of rehashing it all. 

Sitting at the kitchen table is a man. He is tall, with a sharp, stern face, and glasses that glint in the harsh light, hiding his eyes behind the lenses. He waves a hand, and nods politely, and Levi grips the doorframe to keep himself steady. 

“Levi,” his mother says, “this is Zeke Jaeger. He’s a doctor from the city. I’ve been talking to your teachers, and they think it might be helpful for you to...discuss everything, with a professional.” 

Levi doesn’t _want_ to discuss things. Not any things—not the incident at the festival, not why it happened, not why he hasn’t been able to breathe a word about it in the months that have passed—but both Zeke and his mother are looking on expectantly, waiting for him to start talking. 

Levi shoves his hands in his pants pockets, and stares down at his toes. 

“I’ve got homework.” 

“Homework can wait,” his mother says. Levi hears the scrape of wood over the floor, peeking up to see a chair pulled out, and his mother gesturing for him to sit in it. “Zeke has come a very long way to talk with you.” 

Reluctantly, Levi sits.

For a long while, nobody says a word. The kitchen is silent save for the hum of the overhead bulb and the steady whirr of the fridge. Levi rearranges himself on the chair. Zeke smiles on, his hands steepled atop a pile of files and forms on the table. 

Levi’s mother claps her hands. 

“I have to get the laundry in, but please, start without me,” she says. On her way past him, she leans in close to Levi’s ear, fingers squeezing his shoulder, “please, Levi, _talk_ to him.” 

The moment the door closes, Zeke sits back in his chair, clearing his throat. 

“I apologise,” he says, “I was under the impression you knew I’d be coming today.” 

Levi shakes his head. 

“I see. Well, like your mother said, I’m a doctor. Your mother and your teachers thought it might be best for you to talk to a professional, about everything that’s been going on lately.” 

Levi bristles in his chair. 

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he says. “I’m not— _unstable_ , or whatever.” 

Zeke smiles warmly. 

“Of course you’re not,” he says. 

“I’m not dangerous.” 

“Nobody said you were, Levi—is it okay that I call you that?” 

Levi shrugs one shoulder. He is under the distinct impression that Zeke is going to do what he wants, regardless of Levi's input. 

“I’m not here because you’re unstable, or because you’re dangerous, or anything like that. I’m here to help you—and your family, your teachers, your peers—understand why you might’ve acted the way you did towards your classmate.” 

“It was an accident,” Levi snaps. Zeke regards him coolly, calmly. It makes his blood boil. 

“I have no doubt that it was,” Zeke says. “But accidents have causes just like everything else, and it’s important we find out what that cause was, to prevent it happening again." 

Levi sits rigidly in his seat. 

“Let's figure this out together, shall we?" 

Levi folds his arms across his chest, hissing through his teeth. He doesn't need _help_ figuring anything out. 

Not to lay blame, but Levi is strongly of the opinion that had his mother never forced him into his robe and his sandals and out the front door on the eve of the One-Night Bridge, he might never have run into his classmates by the lake, and he might never have had to deal with What Happened to Armin and all the things that come with it. 

The solution is simple enough: stay the hell away from Armin, and Mikasa, and Jean, and everybody else, and none of this can happen again. 

If Levi thought this could be so easily dismissed, he would voice all these thoughts without question. But Zeke watches him unwavering, undeterred by his closed off slouch and his scowl, and Levi knows this is a fight he will not win. 

“Okay,” is what he says instead. Zeke’s smile broadens. 

“Good.” Zeke gives a little nod of his head, and then he rifles through his papers, and pulls out a lined page, covered in scribbles Levi can’t hope to read upside down. 

“These are accounts from your friends,” he says. Levi winces at the word; they’re classmates, nothing more. “Of what happened. Am I right in understanding you claim you don’t remember?” 

Levi gives a tight nod. He remembers more than he has let on, definitely, because in all his previous talks Levi has told them _nothing_. Zeke is not fooled by his fabricated amnesia. 

But he doesn’t _want_ to talk about being in his body at the moment of the push—he can still feel Armin’s chest beneath his palm, and the splash of water up his robe when Armin hit the lake. He can still hear Mikasa’s voice, and the collective gasp of the crowd, and the sight of Armin’s blood swimming in the water is burned to the backs of his eyelids. 

He hasn’t told anybody that. He won’t be telling the doctor, either, whether he can see right through Levi or not. 

“That’s okay. What I’d like to do, if it’s alright with you, is go through a little of what your friends—”

“—classmates,” Levi corrects. 

“Sorry," Zeke says, not sounding sorry at all. "Your classmates have said, and if there’s anything that rings untrue for you, I’d like you to tell me.” 

“I don’t want to hear it all again," Levi snaps. "I didn’t mean to hurt him, so just tell me how to not do it again, if that’s what you’re here for.” 

Zeke sets his paper back on the tabletop and folds his hands over it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m not here to push, but I can’t find a solution without asking some questions first.” 

Levi scrubs a hand over his face, growling into his palm. 

“I pushed him,” he says, through gritted teeth. “He touched me, and I pushed him, and I ran away. That’s it. That’s what everybody says happened.” 

For a long while, Zeke stares at him. It’s not dumbfounded, not like everybody else has been, it’s just calculating. Scrutinizing. Levi squirms beneath it, slouching low in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Can you think why?” 

“I don’t know why.” 

“I understand that,” Zeke says. “But is there any reason you could think of why, in that situation, you might feel pushed to act out?” 

Levi wrinkles his nose. 

“Isn’t that _your_ job? To tell me that?” 

Zeke gives a little laugh, scratching at the back of his neck. 

“I’m not here to tell you anything. It’s my job to help you work things out—together we talk through things, and together we come to conclusions.” 

Levi huffs a breath. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “He touched me. I don’t like being touched.” 

Zeke tilts his head. 

“Would you push me? If I touched you now?” 

Levi bristles, and Zeke raises a placating palm into the space between them. 

“I’m not going to,” He says. “I’m not going to—but hypothetically, if I were to—he put his hand on your shoulder, yes?—if I were to do the same, right now, would you push me?” 

“No,” Levi says shortly. At least, he doesn’t _think_ he would. But he never thought he’d push Armin, either. 

“So then, is that the only reason you can think of?” 

Levi scrunches his brow. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what it was that night that bothered him so much. Not for lack of choice; if anything, there are too many possible options, too many contributing factors—the crowd, being left on his own, the sudden appearance of his classmates, Jean’s targeted insult, Armin’s hand on his shoulder. Too much to choose from. 

But, Levi supposes, perhaps it was all of that together. 

“I get...full, at times,” he says, after a while. Zeke nods at him. 

“What do you mean by full, Levi?” 

“I mean,” he huffs, “like there is too much _...stuff_ in me, shit I can’t get out, and the more people push and prod the more pressured it gets.” 

“And when the pressure gets too much…? That’s when you feel the need to lash out?” 

Levi shrugs. “Guess so” 

“I see,” Zeke says. “Do you—this fullness, where is it?” 

It’s a difficult question to answer. It’s everywhere, really, from his head to his toes, ballooning out in all the empty spaces until none are left, but it is focused in some places, too. 

“Here,” he says, prodding at his temple, “and here." He taps a finger to his chest, then refolds his arms across it. 

“Okay. Are there any times that you can think of when this feeling has been at its worst?” 

“I dunno,” Levi says. “I don’t check my fucking watch.” 

Zeke’s lips pull tight, like he might laugh. He pushes his glasses to the bridge of his nose, collecting himself. 

“Of course you don’t,” he says, “What about any…situations, then?” 

Levi gives himself a moment to think on it. And then, slowly, he says, “crowds. Crowded places. Makes me feel like I can't breathe.” 

“It makes you nervous?” 

Levi pauses, then nods once. 

“And—I’m just guessing, but I’d assume the festival was a very busy place to be?” 

“I didn’t want to go,” Levi says, reflexively. It feels very important for this doctor to know that, like it takes a little of the blame for what happened away from Levi. “My mum made me.” 

“Made you?” 

Levi nods his head. He gives the briefest explanation, of the festival and of his father, the tradition of setting their lanterns year after year, even when, for the last few, he has protested with all of his might. Zeke nods along the whole time, and when Levi is done, Zeke leans his elbows on the table and folds his hands together neatly. 

As he rounds off, the front door opens, and Levi’s mother bustles back in with the laundry piled high out of the basket. 

“Everything alright?” She asks. Levi ducks his gaze to the floor, but thankfully, Zeke speaks for him. 

“Everything’s fine,” he says, and then, “are you managing?” 

“Fine, fine,” she says. “I’ll go put these away, if you’re getting on alright without me.” 

“Actually,” Zeke says, “I’d like for you to join us when you’re done, if you wouldn’t mind?” 

Levi’s gaze shoots up to him. He must look about as appalled by the idea as he feels, because Zeke gives him a smile that is probably supposed to be reassuring. It sets Levi's teeth on edge. 

“Oh—okay,” his mother says. “I won’t be too long.” 

Once the door closes behind her, Zeke turns to Levi with placating hands.

“I’m not going to tell her anything you don’t want me to tell her,” he says. “But there are treatment options I have in mind, and I need to discuss them with both of you, together. Is that alright?” 

Levi supposes, really, by the look on Zeke’s face, that he doesn’t have all that much of a choice. He shrugs, and nods, and Zeke grins. 

“Good! While we wait, I have an exercise to talk about that I’d like for you to try, if you’re willing?” 

Again, Levi shrugs. 

“I’d like you to buy a notebook. Or a diary, or a journal—something like that. And when you start feeling full, like you said, I’d like you to write things down.” 

“Why?” 

“You need an outlet,” Zeke says. “Some people feel better when they get a chance to talk things out, but for some people—and I think, right now, you’re one of them—the prospect of voicing everything...it can be overwhelming. Especially if you don’t have somebody that you’re comfortable talking to. Writing, most people find easier. There’s no fear of judgement, no pressure to explain yourself in a way somebody else will understand—you’re free to talk about things in whatever way is easiest for you. It’s less intrusive.” 

“I’m shit with words,” Levi says. Zeke shakes his head. 

“It doesn’t matter. Nobody else is going to be reading it, so you don’t have to worry about it making perfect sense. Think of it as a hole, to let a little pressure out of your tires. Does that sound like something that might help you?” 

Levi isn’t all too sure what tires have to do with anything, but he nods all the same, if only to end the conversation quickly. 

“Good! I’m glad,” he says, smiling. Levi’s mother plods back in, laundry-free, and Zeke beckons her over to the table. “Would you mind having a seat? We’re coming up with an action plan together, and there is one more thing I’d like to suggest.”


	2. Fine on the Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi watches the forest disappear out the back window. It felt peaceful, driving through slotted orange sunbeams, with the cooler mountain wind finally shifting a little of the humidity inside the car, and now that they have passed it, a strange part of Levi longs to go back.
> 
> They round another corner, and the world opens out over the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is [Fine on the Outside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yb2arWjBhp0) by Priscilla Ahn

_So I left home, I packed up and I moved_

_Far away_

_From my past one day_

_I sound fine on the outside_

_*_

The remainder of the school term blurs by, and all too soon Levi is unloading his bags from a cramped, crowded train onto a cramped, crowded platform, mopping sweat from his brow and craning his neck to find the family friends who are supposed to be collecting him. 

It was decided during his talk with Zeke that a break might be just what Levi needed. 

“He’s wound very tight,” Zeke had said by way of explanation, “the business and the familiarity of the town, and the pressure of dealing with everything that happened, is only going to hinder any kind of recovery we might have.” 

Together, the three of them had come up with a plan. A summer away in the country, for a little space, some fresh air, and recuperation. 

Levi fishes around in his pocket, searching until his fingers clasp around the photograph his mother had given him. It's a little old, a little creased, bent down the middle where he has sat on it throughout the journey, but the faces in the picture are clear enough. Levi eyes them both, and scans the platform once more.

"Levi!"

Levi turns with a start. Weaving their way through the throng are a man and a woman, both waving frantically to catch his attention. Levi shuffles his feet and tightens his grip on his suitcase.

They look much the same as in the picture, save a few differences with age. Erwin's hair is cut shorter and styled more neatly, while Marie's looks longer, pulled up in a thick, messy knot atop her head, loose strands curling against her temples in the heat. Both of them are a little more lined around their eyes, and their skin is toned darker in the summer sun—but besides all that, they are unmistakable.

"Sorry," Erwin says, drawing to a stop. Up close, he towers over Levi, tall and broad across the chest. "We'd have gotten here earlier if we'd known it'd be so busy."

Levi shrugs, scowling at a spot somewhere over Marie's shoulder. 

"It's fine." 

Neither Erwin nor Marie look particularly phased by the heat or the humidity; there is sweat on their brows, but it's a fine sheen, where Levi feels very much like he's pouring with it.

"C'mon," Marie says, picking up one of Levi's bags, "we'll talk some more once we get out of this mess."

Outside the station, the air is impossibly warmer. It sits heavy on Levi's skin, and it is almost too thick for him to breathe through.

"It's a little bit of a trek to the house," Marie says, loading Levi's things into the back of their car, "but at least the view'll be nice."

Nice it is. It doesn't take long to escape the little town housing the train station, and soon enough the tight-pressed buildings morph into plains of the brightest green, arching up and down on hills that weave either side of the road.

They pass wheat fields and rice paddies, farmers tending their crops under the sweltering midday sun, and in the distance, Levi can see the bright blue stretches of the sea, foamy white waves crashing onto the land.

"You won't remember much about this place, I take it?" Erwin asks from the passenger seat. Levi crosses his arms more tightly over his chest. The car is small, and even with Levi’s smaller stature, every bump in the road crashes his knees into the back of Marie's seat.

He shakes his head. Erwin hums, reaching idly into the centre console and fishing until he pulls up a pair of sunglasses. He slots them neatly on his face to block out the blazing sunlight. 

"I'm not surprised," he says. "You were tiny when your mother brought you out here last. Small enough to sit on Marie's knee the whole drive."

Levi almost feels bad for not remembering. Almost. It's too hot in the little car for feeling guilty.

"Can we open another window?"

"Sorry," Marie says. Levi glances up, catching her eyes in the rear view mirror. "The back ones don't wind down. It's not too much further though, and the air up in the village is a little cooler."

"Your mum says you got yourself in a bit of trouble back home," Erwin goes on. Levi stiffens; not here. This trip is supposed to be calming, soothing. The last thing he wants is to retell a tale he's running from.

Something on his face must show it, too, because Erwin twists around in his seat and holds up a hand in apology.

"I won't ask if you don't want to tell us," he says. "This is supposed to be relaxing, right?"

Levi nods.

"No use stressing, then. We won't think about it."

Soon enough, the distant ocean disappears behind the trees. The road grows narrow and winding, picking a path with forest on either side, climbing higher and higher uphill until finally, they plateau, and the trees begin to thin once more.

Levi watches the forest disappear out the back window. It felt peaceful, driving through slotted orange sunbeams, with the cooler mountain wind finally shifting a little of the humidity inside the car, and now that they have passed it, a strange part of Levi longs to go back.

They round another corner, and the world opens out over the mountain.

To the left, Levi spies a house. It's a funny thing, with a blue-paint porch and little balconies coming off the upstairs windows. This, this is familiar; Levi has the most distant memories of his father's big hands setting him on the railing of a balcony, overlooking a vegetable garden below. It must be at the back of the house, Levi thinks, because there are no vegetables in sight here.

Straight ahead, the land slopes gently downwards, and from here Levi can see other houses dotted around, some stand alone, some terraced, and some creeping so close to the edge of the forest it seems like the trees are trying to swallow them up. He can see the ocean once again, and from here he can see further out to sea. Boats bob on the water, a fishing trawler reels up out of the waves, and beyond even that, the sunlight cracks out over the horizon.

Marie cuts the engine, and Levi blinks. 

"Here we are!" She says, climbing out of the car. She tugs her seat forward, and Levi clambers over it and out into the fresh air. It's still warm, out here, but it's not so unbearable anymore, and the heat isn't quite so suffocating.

Marie claps her hands on her hips, grinning.

"Home sweet home!"

As it turns out, Erwin and Marie’s house is very much a home. The garden is a little ragged, and the inside is a little cluttered; everything about the place is worn, but in the warmest kind of way. It has been lived in to the fullest.

Bits and pieces of it ring familiar. There is an old, cushioned rocking chair in one corner, laden with garish, knitted blankets. The sight of it bubbles a bittersweet kind of pain in Levi's chest. There are pictures lining the walls on the staircase, and on the way up Levi pauses more than once to squint at photos he vaguely remembers.

At the top of the landing, Erwin points out the bathroom, before heaving Levi's cases to the end of the corridor, and stopping outside another door.

"This is where you'll sleep," he says. "Sorry it’s a little messy, we cleaned it up best we could. We'll leave you to get settled, okay?"

Levi nods, bowing his head in thanks. Marie claps him on the back.

"Lunch in half an hour, if you're hungry."

Levi waits until the stairs stop creaking before he pushes the door open. 

The bedroom looks like it’s supposed to be spacious, but over the years Erwin and Marie have packed it full of so many items—books, movies, cardboard boxes filled with who knows what and furniture with no other home—that the floorspace available is somewhat lacking. Still, it’s cosy, with a big four poster bed draped in light, chiffon curtain, a plush armchair buried in yet more knit blankets, and a wide window with a cushioned bench, opening out onto a sweet Juliet balcony. 

Levi picks his way over a toppled pile of papers, lifting his bags, and stops beside the bed. 

The mattress is _soft_. Levi knows so before he even sits on it—it comes on a memory, of sinking deep into pillows and blankets and the spongiest mattress, pressed in between two big, warm bodies, and dreaming of sleeping on clouds. 

Levi drops to the edge of the bed, and opens up his smallest bag. He rifles through most of his essentials—phone, wallet, tissues, water bottle, three different maps of the area should he get lost—until, right at the bottom, he finds his notebook. 

True to his agreement with Zeke, Levi had started a journal. In it, he stores his overflow; all the little parts that take up too much space inside of him. Sometimes, he will go days without touching it, and others he will fill pages, scribbling until his fingers cramp and his mind begins to drain. 

Today, already, has been much of the latter. 

There are notes made after waking, after breakfast, on the bus and on the train, all made in hopes of loosening the knot in his stomach. 

Levi flips it open to the next clean page, and empties out a little more. 

** 

Lunch is a mostly quiet affair. Erwin and Marie fill the silence with comfortable chatter, while Levi focuses on his food. 

Thankfully, they don’t ask an awful lot of questions. 

Levi isn’t sure what they’ve already been told and what they still don’t know—about him, about the doctors and the talks and the accident—and that thought hangs overhead like a storm cloud, but it is nice, in the least, to know that they aren’t interested in bringing it up. 

Levi helps with the dishes. They insist he doesn’t have to, that today is his time to settle in, get acquainted with the place that will house him for the coming weeks, but Levi insists. It makes him antsy, the thought of taking and giving nothing in return. He is all stormy frowns and downturns lips, the picture of a walking attitude problem. If he cannot articulate himself well in words, the least Levi can do is show them that he has some manners. 

With the dishes dried and put away, Marie takes to the garden. From the kitchen window, Levi can see rows of vegetables in the rich soil, some big and leafy and some ripe for picking. 

“It’s a nice day,” Erwin says. “I have some errands to run down in the village, you’re welcome to join me.” 

Levi shuffles his toes. He _does_ want to go out, to have a look around, but the village isn’t where he wants to go. 

“I'll go on my own.” 

Levi winces the moment he says it. It comes out harsh, cold, not at all like he meant; he’d been looking for a question. A polite, _can I go out alone?_ And the second the words fall from his tongue, Levi regrets it. 

Erwin, though, just laughs, a deep chuckle of a sound. When Levi looks up through his fringe, Erwin is grinning. 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says. “Just don’t get lost, alright?” 

Levi gives a short bow of his head. He wants to apologise for being so abrupt, but Erwin is already gathering his things and slipping on his shoes, and before he knows it, the moment has passed. 

For a long while after the front door closes, Levi stands still. He stares at the place Erwin had been, while the sounds of Marie raking in the garden filter about the house. 

He doesn’t take all that much with him. His phone, although he doubts he’ll get service way out here, a pen, and his notebook. The maps stay buried in the bottom of his bag—Levi can’t even read them anyway. 

Marie waves at him through the window as he leaves. Levi raises a hand in an awkward half-wave of his own, but Marie has already turned away, her strong back all that Levi can see as she digs up another few plants from the row. 

Outside, the air feels fresh. Levi digs his sunglasses up to the bridge of his nose, and follows the main road back the way they had come.

Levi walks on, tucked in close to the side of the road in fear of oncoming vehicles, the shade of trees casting him in darkness, until he spots a narrow little path jutting off from the roadside, disappearing into the trees.

Levi stops before it, pushing his sunglasses up atop his head, and peers into the forest. 

He shouldn’t go in. He has no map, no service, no food or water should he get lost in there, but there is a distant ache of _familiarity_ to the way the path curves out of sight, dust dancing in the sunbeams. 

Levi grips his notebook tight in both hands. Over his shoulder lies the main road, a snaking tarmac pavement cooling in the shadows, and ahead of him lies the taste of something he can’t quite place. 

He feels like he should know. He _wants_ to know. 

With a deep, calming breath, Levi takes first one step, then another, foot after foot, until the road behind him disappears, and the forest swallows him whole. 

It’s quiet, the deeper he goes. No sounds permeate the stillness save for the soft pad of his feet over fallen pines and mossy ground, the chirp and twitter of birds he can’t see and the occasional twitch of leaves. 

It should be eerie. It _should_ frighten him, but strangely, the further he walks and the denser the trees at his sides become, the calmer Levi feels. 

Soon, the stillness is interrupted by the distant sounds of water. It’s a trickle, at first; a whisper somewhere far out of reach, but with each new step it grows louder, and louder, until it is rushing, and so close Levi can feel the cool air breezing from it on his skin. 

And then, without warning, the path opens out and Levi is met with a sight that stops him in his tracks. 

A river. 

A river, carving a deep path through the forest. Sunlight bounces from the surging water, winking up at him. On this bank, trees arch high overhead, mottling Levi’s skin in little dabs of sunlight. There is no bridge over the river, only the broken remnants of one sticking damp and mouldy on the bank. 

On the opposite side, a dirty, overgrown track follows alongside the water. Crusted fallen leaves litter the ground, weeds sprouting up out of nowhere, tangling like snares over the path. And beyond that, there is a fence—at one time, it might’ve acted as a barrier, but the forest has taken it for its own, gnarling the wood in vines and creepers, taking hold of the garden beyond. Or, what is supposed to be a garden. 

Levi knows so, because along with the land ensnared in the confines of the fence, there is a house. 

A house built of wood and dirt-brown stones, with an uneven roof and tall, tall windows. 

Levi stares at it. 

It’s strange, standing here, in the calm and the quiet, and feeling every part of him swell with something so intense it’s almost _painful._ It fills him, so much he feels he might burst if he can’t get it out—but it’s not...it’s not a _bad_ feeling. It’s not a bad kind of full. 

Still, Levi knows what he should do. 

He steps out towards the river and sits at the edge, legs folded, and opens his notebook out in his lap. He writes out these spare parts, these things that have no home in him, bleeding them into the paper until two new pages are full of this feeling. 

He writes about the forest. About the peace and the quiet, the tranquility, and he writes about the river and the way the sunlight plays in the water. He writes about the house, and about the way this little patch of forest swells something within him, pouring to the brim until he can hold no more. 

And he writes about how he kind of likes it. 

When he is done, Levi sets his notebook and his pen onto the ground beside him, and turns to look back at the house. 

Levi sits on the bank of the river and watches the big old house, breathing deep in the quiet of the woods until the sun sinks low and the sky grows darker above him. 

The house falls deeper into shadow. With the sun sinking low and the trees blocking some of the late evening light, Levi struggles to see it clearly. Before him, the river rushes by, black now without the sun to light it. 

Suddenly, something catches Levi’s attention. On the surface of the water, shifting and weaving as the river rushes on, is a tiny, orange light. It ducks and blurs, dives beneath the white foam of crashing water and resurfaces, again and again. Levi stares at it, frowning. 

It’s so out of _place_ , in this darkness. Levi leans forward, bracing his palms in the soil to keep his balance. It crumbles beneath his touch. Little flakes of dirt cascade into the water below him, but Levi pays no mind. The light is still dancing, dancing, dancing, and there is a burning curiosity in him. 

And then, from over the river, comes a knocking. 

It’s sharp, and _loud_ in the quiet of the forest. Levi jerks back from it, and stares over to the house. 

It’s still dark. It looks monstrous, like this, a silhouette so large and looming it sends the beginnings of fear racing in Levi’s chest. 

The house is in shadow, but one upstairs window is lit—not by a lamp, not a bulb, but by the warm, flickering glow of flame. 

And there, with scruffy brown hair and eyes magnified by the thin oval lenses, pressed up to the glass with her knuckles rapping at the pane, is a girl. 

* * *

Mornings out in the country are quiet. There is none of the buzz of the town, with the constant stream of engines, of quick, busy feet and loud, hurried voices. 

Out here, Levi awakes not to the beep of horns or the blare of sirens, but to birdsong. Sweet and lilting, it drifts through the open window with the breeze, balmy against his sweat-sticky skin. Even with the window cracked through the night to cool the room, Levi is too hot, blankets kicked down to his ankles and his shirt rucked up around his chest. 

Outside, the sun is still rising. The clock beside the bed says it’s a little past five. Most mornings, Levi struggles to wake up, but for the first time in a long while he feels almost fresh, bathed in the first rays of the day. The pillow beneath his cheek is warm, and there is a smell to it that fills him as he breathes it in. He bunches the soft, plush fabric to his face and for a moment, he just lies, eyes closed, inhaling this scent and reaching to place it. 

Whatever it is he is searching for dances just beyond the stretches of his fingertips, and after a while Levi stops trying, and spreads himself out over the bedding. 

His feet find cool spots on the mattress, and his hand, wedged into the cold patch beneath the pillow, finds the spine of his notebook. 

The last entry is from late last night, after dinner was over and the table was cleared, dishes washed, and Erwin and Marie holed up behind their bedroom door. Levi wrote it in the stillness of the night, with the blankets pulled up over his head and his torch held between his teeth. He remembers every scrape of pen on paper as too loud; intrusive, a shriek in an otherwise quiet world. 

He'd written a little more about the house—about its daunting shadow in the dark, about the light in the river, about the candle, and about the girl—but thinking back, Levi can't quite work out _why_.

There was nothing entirely overwhelming about the situation. No cloying fullness had plagued him, and Levi definitely didn't feel so much like he was drowning, but all the same, the experience had rattled in him. It had felt important, to write it down, to keep a record, like it might all slip away from him if he didn't.

Perhaps it's because of the house. Every which way Levi turns in the country home, something inside of him screams familiarity—and yet, Levi is struggling to place it. Some memories are clear—perched on the balcony, overlooking the garden—and others are more hazy, like the chair, and the pictures, and the softness of the bed in his summer room. It's understandable, he supposes, that he might be afraid of losing the things that are happening now like he has lost those old memories.

Levi closes the notebook and shoves it back under the pillow.

Already, the day is shaping up to be warm. It's too hot in the bedroom to nap any longer, like all the extra furnishings and the boxes upon boxes of stored, useless items are trapping the summer heat, taking up the spaces the cold air could occupy.

Instead of trying to sleep, Levi climbs to his feet, popping his back and rolling his shoulders, and pushes the window all the way open. The cushioning is soft, and the bench is long enough that somebody even taller than himself would be able to stretch out on it comfortably. Levi opts for sitting, letting the morning breeze wash a little of the heat from his skin.

**

"Would you like some more fruit, Levi?"

Erwin holds out a platter strewn with ripe, juicy fruits, sliced and spread about the silverware. Levi unloads a few strawberries and a wedge of watermelon, and mumbles his thanks around a too-large mouthful of rice.

"Anything you'd like to do today?" Marie asks. Levi waits a moment, in case Marie isn't talking to him, but when Erwin remains silent he swallows his bite and flicks his eyes towards her. 

"No," he says, and then adds, "not really," which doesn't sound much politer. He tacks on a, "sorry," for good measure, and ducks his head over his food.

Marie settles back in her chair. Insects buzz outside the house, loud and crooning, and the silence stretches around them.

"I'm helping out in the bakery down in the village," Erwin says.

"And if there's nothing you want to do," Marie says, "I've got seeds to plant in the garden. You can help, if you'd like."

"No," Levi says again. _No, it's okay, I don't want to get in your way_ , is what he meant, but there always has been a disconnect between his brain and his tongue, and Levi hasn't yet worked out a way to fix it.

Marie doesn't seem phased, though. She just laughs, scratching at the back of her head.

"I thought you might say that," she says. "You never did like gardening—used to try and eat the seeds before we could plant them."

Levi...vaguely remembers that. Or more, he remembers a sterner side of Marie, towering over him, shadowing out the sun, and a warning that those seeds could sprout and bloom in his belly if he ate too many.

"Once," Erwin says, laughing quietly, "until you told him he'd grow apple trees right out of his stomach if he didn't stop."

Levi's gut tightens. He _does_ remember—and he remembers crying about it in his mother's arms, with the blurry figure of his father muffling his laughter in the background.

"I'm going out," Levi says. His tone is sharp, abrupt. He winces.

"Okay," Erwin says, still grinning. "It's nice you're exploring. Your mother said it's...hard, sometimes, to get you out of the house. She'll be happy to hear you're taking yourself out on your own."

As they clear away breakfast, Erwin and Marie give suggestions for footpaths Levi could follow on his wanderings.

"They're all clearly marked," they tell him, "but don't stray too far away from the path. It's easy to get lost out here."

Levi nods along like he's listening, like he's taking note of all the places he could go, but all he is thinking about, as he dries cups and bowls and plates and hands them off to Erwin to put away, is the forest, and the path, and the house over the river with the strange girl in the window.

* * *

Today, Levi sets out with his bag on his shoulder. In it he packs his phone, his torch, and his notebook, as well as a lunch box and a bottle of water. His skin feels tacky with lotion to keep him from burning under the sun, and this is slung in his bag, too, at Erwin's request, though he doubts very much he will need it in the shade of the forest.

The path is easy enough to find, and today it seems shorter than it did the afternoon before. Soon enough, the river comes into view, and the weathered house appears between the trees.

Levi takes a seat on the riverbank, and pulls his notebook from his bag.

There really isn't anything to say. Levi opens to a new page and taps the end of his pen against the paper, staring over the water at the building beyond. He can't just describe the place _again,_ but there is a pressing need to do _something_. Levi just isn't too sure what it is, yet.

Overhead, the sun beats down onto the water. It trickles on, unfazed by the heat, a constant bubble and gurgle behind the caws and cheeps of the day birds. Levi flops to lie on his back, pulling the brim of his cap down over his face to shield it from the polka dots of sunlight dappling him beneath full, leafy branches.

He isn't sure how long he lies like that, bathed in the warmth of the sun and the shade of the trees, and he isn't sure he's _awake_ the entire time as the river flows on and the forest breathes life around him. He only becomes aware once more when the patter of something small, hard, and a little heavy drops onto his stomach. He flinches, and sits upright, as another pebble sails from nowhere and catches him in the chest. His cap falls off his face, into his lap.

"Yo, over there! How about you say something next time someone shouts at you, huh?"

Levi blinks the sudden light from his eyes and squints over the river.

The girl from the window looks vastly different in the daylight. She is as pale as Levi, the sun casting a brilliant glow from her skin, and in her hands she holds a small mountain of stones. Atop her head is a mop of unruly brown hair, half-tied back, sticking up and out at the strangest of angles, and her eyes are hidden behind a pair of thin-rimmed oval glasses, glinting in the sunlight. 

"What, you can't talk or something?"

Levi blinks again. The girl cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, so loud a little flock of birds rush out from their hiding spot in the branches.

"It's kind of rude, you know, ignoring someone when they're talking to you." She says. "Maybe just, I dunno, wave a hand? Something!"

In the quiet that follows, the girl tilts her head. The sunlight shifts, and behind her lenses, Levi can see a pair of honey brown eyes. 

"Can you hear me?" She calls again. Levi watches her suck in a great big breath, and then she bellows, "are you deaf?!" 

"I'm not _deaf_ ," Levi says finally. With the shock wearing off, all Levi is left with is anger—rage, at this impossibly loud girl for interrupting his calm, relaxing rest. "Stop fucking shouting."

The girl throws her handful of stones into the water where they splash, the ripples mingling in with the rest of the flowing river.

"Well why didn't you say something the first time?" She says. "I was just checking you hadn't _died_ over there."

"I'm fine," Levi huffs. "I was fine before you started bothering me, and I'll be fine again when you leave, so—go."

The girl gives a loud, disgruntled squawk, sounding for all the world like a bird with ruffled feathers.

"This is _my_ house, you know!" She shouts, waving a hand back towards the building, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Go back inside then," Levi says. He picks up his cap and flops back to the floor, dropping the hat atop his face. "Stop bothering me."

For a little while, Levi wonders if maybe that simple command had worked, because minutes go by before the girl says another word.

And then another pebble lands on his stomach.

He lifts his head from the ground, cap dropping low enough to expose his forehead and his eyes, and he peeks over the top of it, glaring at the girl across the river. She is bouncing another pebble on her palm, with his head cocked thoughtfully to one side.

"You shouldn't lie so close to the water," she says. "The bank’s super crumbly."

Levi drops his head and closes his eyes.

"It's held me up so far," he says. "And it didn't drop me in the river last night, either." The words come muffled by the inside of his cap, but the girl must hear him, because she gives another little squeak, and when Levi chances another look at her she is standing upright, pointing one long, accusatory finger over the water at him.

"I thought it was you!" She says. Another flock of birds take flight somewhere up above them. "Last night, on the bank. I thought you were gonna fall in and _die._ Boy, you really _are_ stupid, getting that close to the water in the dark."

"I'm not—don't call me fucking _stupid_."

"Well, what am I supposed to call you, then?"

Levi opens his mouth, and then closes it again. This girl—this loud, _obnoxious_ girl—is a stranger. A complete stranger to him, and until now, Levi's anger at being interrupted in his peace had masked any and all self-consciousness he might have.

But now this stranger is asking what to call him, and suddenly, Levi is acutely aware of who he is, and why he's here.

Levi debates lying. He debates running, too, and never coming back, but this place in the forest is peaceful, and the house draws him in, and the girl, in the least, intrigues him.

"Levi," he says quietly.

"Huh? Speak up, I can't hear you."

"Levi," he says again. "You can call me Levi."

The girl pulls her lips from side to side, like she's rolling the name on her tongue, and then she grins, and abruptly drops to sit cross-legged on her own bank of the river.

"Alright, Levi it is."

"Great."

Levi stares at her. Dead pine needles dig into the skin of his elbows where they bear his weight. The girl stares back.

"This is the part where you ask _my_ name," she says. Levi feels his cheeks grow warm, and he scowls to scare the blush away.

"I don't give a shit what your name is, four-eyes."

"Oi, oi, no need to be so mean, grumps." 

"That's not my name."

"And that's not how you make friends," the girl says. "C'mon, ask me my name."

"No."

"Ask it." 

"No. Shut up."

"You've got an attitude problem, you know that?"

Levi's skin prickles at the insult. He lies back on the forest floor, cap pressed over his face.

"So I've been told," he says.

"It's not so hard, you know. It'll be easier for the both of us if you just ask."

Levi groans out a sigh. "If you wanna tell me so bad, just tell me."

"That's not how it _works_."

"If I ask you your name," Levi says, through gritted teeth, "will you stop talking?"

"Yes," she says, "promise."

"Fine. What is your name." 

She gives a wide, beaming smile, so bright her eyes pinch closed behind her glasses, and she holds out a hand, stretched towards the river, like Levi is supposed to reach out and shake it. 

"Nice to meet you, Levi,” she says. “You can call me Hange.” 

** 

Levi spends most of the afternoon lounging on the bank of the river, baking in the heat while Hange, despite her promise, chatters on. She talks of seemingly nothing—Levi listens for hours, to the breath of the forest and the gurgle of the river running by, and to the chirp of Hange's voice, but for all of his listening, he doesn't learn an awful lot.

Hange lives in the forest house, and has done since she was young. She is free to wander about around her home, but she isn't allowed to cross the river. 

"Just not," she says, when Levi asks her, "my parents wouldn't like it. There's nowhere to cross anymore, anyhow. The nearest bridge is all the way down in the village, and you can't walk that far in the forest."

Levi learns that Hange is around his age—older by months, and oddly smug about it (and Levi, in turn, is oddly bitter)—that she likes reading, likes walking, likes food, _hates_ thunderstorms, can't swim, and that is...about all the information he retains.

By the time he packs up to leave, the sky overhead is flushed pink with the dipping sun. Hange stops talking when Levi stands, then clambers to her feet, too. She yawns and lazily stretches long, thin arms to the sky, back arching. Levi can imagine the pop of her spine. 

"You're going?" She asks. Levi shoves his empty lunch box into his bag along with his notebook, and hefts the strap over his shoulder.

"Gotta get back for dinner," he says. Hange whines a little in displeasure. 

"Can't you stay longer?" She asks. "I don't see people out here very often, you know? It's been nice having someone to talk to. And we haven't even started talking about _you_ yet." 

Levi hooks his cap onto his head. Despite wearing it all day, the skin around his cheeks and over his nose feels raw in the places the sun has hit him.

"I don't think you're supposed to tell strangers that stuff," he says. Hange huffs, and rests her hands on her hips.

"I told you where I live," she says. 

Levi shrugs.

"That was stupid," he says. "Only an idiot would tell a stranger where their house is."

For a second, Hange flounders, and then her eyes narrow. With the shift of the sun through the day, the bulk of the sunlight now shines on Hange's side of the river. It glows soft with the late hour, and rather than illuminating Hange's pale skin, it dances over it. It plays amongst the unruly strands of her hair, like little fireflies creeping out with the coming of the evening, and for a moment, Levi can't help but stare.

"You're not gonna like, murder me or anything, right?"

Levi blinks. The strange, dazzling effect dissipates with a shake of his head.

"Who knows," he says. "But if I _did_ it'd be your own fault. You shouldn't be so trusting."

Hange kicks absently at the loose dirt beneath her feet. She doesn't look at Levi when she next speaks—instead, her gaze floats about atop the water. Her reflection wobbles and warps on the surface.

"I don't get to talk to people all that often," she says quietly. Then she laughs a little, and scratches at the back of her head. "I guess I got a little carried away, huh?" 

Levi adjusts his bag strap on his shoulder.

"Talk to your family," he says. Hange’s smile fades and she digs the toe of her shoe into the ground, and clasps her hands behind her back.

"They're not...around a lot," she says. For a moment, Levi almost feels bad, but then Hange lifts her head and once more, there is a smile on her face, so bright it is almost blinding. "So it's all the more fun when people come out here!"

"Oh," Levi says. As the seconds go by, the sky above them grows darker. Pink fades to purple, and the light coming through the trees beams down on an angle, spreading Levi's shadow impossibly long before him.

Levi stands until he can't wait any longer. Hange doesn't speak again. She just stands, watching, with her head cocked to one side until finally, Levi turns to leave.

He takes a few steps into the trees before he stops again, and turns on his heel. Hange is still watching him. The smile on her face has dropped some, but it jumps back into place as Levi mumbles a quiet, "bye," just loud enough to carry over the water.

"Bye!" Hange calls, waving. Levi tries to go again, but this time, Hange calls out to him, stilling him mid-step. "Levi!"

"What?"

Hange sucks a breath, screwing up her face, and with her hands cupped over her mouth, she yells, too loud in the soft evening sounds of the forest.

"Come back tomorrow!"

Levi balks.

"I wanna hear about you instead!"

Levi blinks at her, then squints up to the deepening sky. The thinnest mist of cloud cover is creeping out above the trees, and the air about them feels sticky.

"It might rain."

"But if it doesn't?" Hange says. She rocks onto the balls of her feet, teetering a little closer to the edge of the bank. "You'll come back, right?"

Perhaps he shouldn't. He should instead go down to the village, or explore the many walks and trails Marie and Erwin had recommended to him. He could visit the beach, or help out around the house—maybe Marie still needs help with the garden. It's the least he could do, for their custom.

But Hange is still looking at him, eyes wide as saucers behind her glasses, teeth caught in her lip as she waits for an answer. She looks so _eager_ , standing there. Levi fears that anything other than a yes might break her. And behind her, the big house stands quiet, watching them. There is no car on the drive, and no garage that Levi can see, and with no lights on in any of the windows, Levi wonders if Hange is there alone right now.

The thought is a little unsettling.

"I..." he starts. Hange's eyes grow wider. Levi sighs, dropping his chin to his chest. "Fine. Fine, I guess so.” 

* * *

"Did you get far today, Levi?"

Levi contemplates his answer as he chews on his beef. The table before them is strewn with a spread too big for three people. There are plates of meats, both cold and hot, a steaming pan of rice, bowls of soup, vegetables, and a dish piled high with fresh, steamed dumplings. Already, he is filling up.

"No," he says, after a time. "It's too hot."

Erwin nods his agreement, lifting his soup to his lips and sipping it back.

"It's getting humid, too," he says. "It might storm tonight."

Levi eyes the sky beyond the window. A rolling cloud cover has moved in as the night has settled, but the air both inside the house and out is thick and weighty.

"Does it do that often?" Levi had half expected cold, frigid winds, being so high up and so close to the ocean, but the weather for the last two days has been mostly pleasant, if a little uncomfortable.

"Storm? Yeah," Marie says. "It gets pretty volatile. It changes quick, too, so it's easy to get caught out in it."

Levi nods, and sips at his milk. Everything out here tastes different than it does back home. It's more fresh, definitely, sourced locally—most of the vegetables come from the garden, and what they can't grow comes from farmers down in the village—but it isn't just that that tickles Levi's tongue. There is something sweet to every bite, each mouthful warming him from the middle of his chest and out.

Levi savours the creaminess of the milk between his cheeks. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can imagine it hot, boiled until it steams, mixed with something sticky and warm and topped with powder that sticks to the skin and sits atop his lip as he drinks.

"Do you like them?"

Erwin is watching him expectantly. Levi puts down his glass and shakes the honey-sweet milk from his mind. He isn't sure if he has missed something, so lost in his thoughts, and the confusion must show on his face, because Erwin smiles and adds, "Storms, I mean."

"Not really," Levi says. The static in the air always sets him on edge. 

"I love them," Marie says. Something in her eyes gleams, and across the table, Erwin scrubs a hand over his face and shakes his head. "You know what I love most about storms?"

"Marie," he warns. Marie grins, broad and a little wicked.

"There’s nothing better to do in a storm than turn off all the lights, and sit around the fire, and share all my favourite ghost stories."

" _Marie."_ Erwin's tone is a little stern, but there is a fondness to it that bubbles through with the lift of his smile.

"Ghosts aren't real," Levi says, before he can stop himself. A little of the excitement in Marie's eyes drains away. Guilt like a rock settles in his stomach. "I don't believe in them."

"You used to," she says. "Don't you remember? You used to love our—"

"— _your_ ," Erwin interrupts. Marie rolls her eyes.

" _My_ ghost stories. You were always so scared," she says fondly, "some nights you wouldn't even sleep on your own. Erwin and I had to be there, to keep the spirits away."

"I don't remember," Levi says, frowning. It's frustrating, all of these things he feels he should know, standing in the fog of his mind, just beyond the reaches of his light. Marie waves a hand.

"You were young," she says, shrugging. "I didn't expect you to remember an awful lot. You really don't believe in ghosts, though?"

Levi shakes his head. Marie hums, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"I thought your town was _big_ on that kind of stuff—you have festivals every year for spirits, don't you?"

Levi squirms in his seat. His mind jumps to the One-Night Bridge, to Armin, and the accident.

"Yeah," he says. It comes out hoarse, dragging up from his throat. Levi coughs to clear it, and takes another gulp of his milk. "It's stupid."

"You think so?"

Levi runs his fingertip around the rim of his glass. He doesn't reply; he's a little afraid of saying something else that might sound rude, or disrespectful, when Marie seems genuinely invested in the idea. 

"I think it's nice," Marie says. "I think it must be hard, to leave everything you've known behind and move on to something completely new. Having something to lead the way must be a comfort."

"Where do you think they go?" Levi asks. Marie cocks her head.

I don't know," she says, "maybe Heaven or Hell, or maybe they come back as something new. Maybe they find peace, whatever that might be."

Beyond the window, the sky rumbles, and the first few _tics_ of rain patter against the glass. Levi thinks idly of Hange, high up in her window in the house by the river, watching the water swell with the coming deluge.

"This is getting a little too deep for dinner," Erwin says. "How about we get cleaned up and settle in for the night?"

**

Up in his room, Levi settles on the windowsill, listening to the rain lash at the glass.

Darkness out in the country is so vastly different to darkness in the town. The sky hangs fat and heavy with storm clouds that drown out the moon, and there are no streetlights to pollute the air. Down towards the village, most of the land is black. The odd house light blinks, and towards the coast, the swinging beam of a lighthouse arcs over the sea, but aside from that the entire place seems shrouded by the night.

Levi looks out towards the forest. The darkness is so thick that all Levi can see is his own reflection in the window, smudged where his breath fogs the glass. He wipes at it, and presses his face up against it, squinting.

Barely, Levi can make out the outline of the trees. They seem monstrous, like this, reaching for the clouds as they drown in the rain, tall and beastly. Levi rests his forehead on the cool glass.

It must be the darkness, the fullness of it so overwhelming that Levi's eyes have begun to play tricks on him. But somewhere deep in the forest, winking in the heaving rain, Levi is sure he can see a tiny orange glow, the only flickering break in amongst the black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here she is!! I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read so far - please let me know what you think in the comments, and if you'd like to talk further you can find me on tumblr @ [someonestolemyshoes](https://someonestolemyshoes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> See you all again next week~

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!! This is a story I have been working on for years (I wish I was exaggerating, but alas), one that has seen a million different iterations but this time it finally feels right - and so I finally get to share it! I'm a little nervous since it's been uh...a while, since I posted something completely new for levihan, and it is also my first multichapter fic that I've seen through to the end, but I'd say overall I'm pretty proud of how it turned out! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter so far, and fear not, we will see Hange next week :) Please feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts!! 
> 
> If you would like to talk more, you can find me on tumblr @ [someonestolemyshoes](https://someonestolemyshoes.tumblr.com) :D 
> 
> And I will see you all next week with the next update~


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